


honey, please (do me wrong)

by unklarity



Series: honey, please [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/F, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:14:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unklarity/pseuds/unklarity
Summary: Moira’s been obsessed with vampires since she can remember. She just wants to talk to one - you know, for science. Enter her good friend Gabriel, who, supposedly, has a plan.





	honey, please (do me wrong)

⧫  
part I - dream  
 _"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ― Oscar Wilde_

“Ugh.”

Moira sighs, closing her laptop with just a bit too much force, wincing at the sound of it slamming shut just a second later. She should really start paying attention to that, one day. Maybe after she publishes her paper and rabbits start flying through the sky, she’ll get herself a nice desktop computer that’s impossible to break. She can dream, at least.  
She checks her phone, skimming past a slew of messages from Gabe, her eyes drawn down to a link Olivia’s sent to her email. It’s from a medical journal, with the subject line reading:

_Hey look, you’re still famous, bruja. Found a new one ;)_

Moira doesn’t need to read it, because she’s read it already. She’s read the same article, over and over, 37 different times. All rebuttals to her previous publication. All of them atrocious, but somehow each one worse than the last. _Dr. Dracula: Geneticist slammed for research on vampirism and genome variance. The end of a brilliant career. Has Dr. Moira O’Deorain gone off the deep end? Scientist references vampires in publication on human genetics: how weird is too weird?_ She knows them all, and she’s read them all. They’ve been swimming through her head for the past year now, weighing down on her, stopping her from writing, from attending conferences, from even leaving the house. 

Moira is a laughing stock in the scientific community. It’s been a whole year and people are still talking about the crazy woman who wants to investigate vampire genes. Every scientist worth their weight immediately shut down her publication, calling it a load of garbage, making public statements about how belief in vampires was a far-fetched fantasy.

Since then, she’s been researching nonstop, barely pausing to eat and sleep, trying to find someone, anyone to corroborate her theories. Except, there was just one problem. If scientists existed who believed in vampires, they didn’t talk about it. If there were scientists who were vampires, they didn’t write about it. It didn’t help that the general population was vaguely aware that vamps existed; no scientific professional would admit it for fear of looking like a fool. Vampires couldn’t be explained, and so academics seemed to bizarrely ignore the phenomenon. 

The question was, _why_?

Moira slams her hand down on the desk, a few inches away from her computer. What was the point of all this when no one would listen? She’d already ruined her reputation; no one was ever going to pick up a journal with her name on it ever again. She might as well give up and practice medicine, or something equally asinine.

_Unless._

She opens up her worn laptop, feeling the plastic creak in protest under her fingers.

_Unless she can change their minds._

Sucking in a breath, she pulls up a search window and types in:

_Proof vampires are real_

The search results don’t really interest her, but she reads them anyway. She gets through 25 pages before it hits her like a smack in the face. They’re all nonsense, testimonials of drunks and conspiracy theorists, nothing mind blowing, and yet, they make her realize something. Hundreds of “eye-witness” accounts. Blurred security footage. Every single bullshit type of evidence possible is all there. However, there’s one source that every single one of them lacks: an actual vampire. 

_That’s it. That’s what she needs._ She needs to find a vampire, convince them to spill the beans, and make everyone that insulted her research eat their words. It’s the perfect plan; she can turn the scientific community on its head, plus she can get her reputation back. Maybe her research will even get the credit it deserves. At the very least, maybe those assholes will admit they’re wrong and she’s right. There’s only one problem. 

Where the fuck is she going to find a vampire?

It’s then she realizes that no, there’s not just one problem, there’s definitely a few of them. She has no idea where to find a vampire to talk to, for one, and she doesn’t even know if one’s going to want to talk to her once she does. How the hell is she supposed to convince them she’s worth the risk? She can barely talk to humans, for fuck’s sake. 

On top of that, vampires are dangerous, presumably. Anything that can suck the blood out of a human is something that shouldn’t be taken lightly, and no matter how much the assholes writing articles about her scream that vampires are a joke, Moira knows they’re real. So if she’s going to do this, go searching for a vampire to use as a source, she’s got to face the fact that she could easily be killed if she asks the wrong question. (That’s a little scary, to say the least. She’s way too young to be the victim of a grisly murder in a back alley in the middle of London.)

As she continues scrolling through pages of results, her phone starts to ring, a recording of one of the Reapers from Mass Effect, and Gabriel’s name pops up on the screen. She stares at it for a moment, but realizes he’ll keep calling if she ignores him, so she answers. “Yo, bruja, I’m at your door. Open up.” His voice comes through at the same time as she hears it down the hallway, so she hangs up the phone and stands, crossing through the living room and opening the door. Gabe is standing there with a bored look and a couple of plastic bags in one hand, his phone still in the other. He looks her up and down, raising an eyebrow at her in what she can only assume is judgement.

“You look like shit. You keep obsessing over dead people and you’re gonna end up one.” When she rolls her eyes, he pushes one of the bags into her hands. “Come on, you gotta eat something. I brought Chinese.” Moira leaves him in the doorway, heading to the kitchen and putting the bag on the counter. She pulls out the contents, grabbing some plates, while Gabe shuts the door and follows her in, tossing his bag right on the kitchen table. “We need to talk. Olivia says she hasn’t seen you in two weeks. You gotta get out of the house.” He pauses for a second, staring at her pointedly. “If you die in here, nobody’s gonna find you for days. It’s gonna smell, Moira.”

“Gabriel, you’re disgusting.” 

He snorts. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?” Moira knows he isn’t wrong, so she refrains from commenting, scooping some rice onto a plate and tossing some chopsticks at him. “What’s your point?” she asks him, but she catches her reflection in one of the panels of her kitchen cabinets and knows exactly what he’s getting at. After what feels like an eternity, he sits down across from her, leaning his elbows on the table, and looks her in the eyes. “I’m taking you out.”

She breaks eye contact, jerking her whole body away from him and dropping her chopsticks. The sound of them falling against the table is louder than it should be. “Gabe, you don’t understand. I can’t leave now, I’ve finally figured out what I have to do!” He holds up his palm and sighs. “Moira, whatever it is, it can wait. You need a break. You’re not gonna make any genius discoveries while you’re holed up like this. Consider this an intervention.” She’d been waiting for that word, almost expecting it when her phone had rung. He and Olivia don’t understand what’s on the line here, they don’t get how much is at stake. “Gabe,” she murmurs, taking a deep breath. “I don’t need an intervention, or whatever you’re planning.” She exhales, not looking up at him, watching his fingers tap against the edge of the table instead. “I figured out a way to make them listen, Gabe. I’ve just got to find a vampire that’s willing to talk to me.”

His fingers stop tapping. Everything is silent for a minute, or two, or five, she’s not really sure. “Moira, are you listening to yourself? You sound ridiculous. Even if that could work-”

“So you agree it could work.”

Another minute of silence. Gabriel kicks her under the table, right in the shin, and when she snaps her head up to glare at him, he’s smiling. “You’re one crazy bitch, you know that? Look, I get that you’ve gotta get your groove back or whatever, but this isn’t the way to do it. Come get drunk with me, for fuck’s sake; you can start plotting your revenge tomorrow, and then maybe once this is all over you can get back to science, or whatever it is you actually do.” Moira’s not really sure how to argue with that, so she doesn’t bother. Under his breath, Gabe mumbles something about how she’s going to get herself killed, and Moira jabs her heel into his knee in retaliation. She knows she’ll regret this, somehow, but he’s clearly not going to let it go. She sighs. “Fine, where are we going?”

“Olivia got a job at some nightclub downtown, says we should come check it out. She’s not working tonight, so she can meet us there.” The horror must be apparent on her face, because he waves his chopsticks at her dismissively. “It won’t be that bad, Mor.” A bark of laughter escapes her, and she realizes how tired she sounds, her own voice almost completely unrecognizable. No matter how tired she might be, she’s not sure how he thinks he’s going to drag her out clubbing, of all things.

“Gabe, I’m pretty sure we’ve gone over this, I’m not a “nightclub” sort of person.” Moira wraps finger-quotes around the word, even the syllables sounding foreign on her tongue. She hasn’t been to a club since she was 21, and it’s an experience she’d rather forget. The music is always too loud, the lights are always too intense, and there are always way too many people who don’t understand personal space. “Can’t we just go to a pub?” The look he’s giving her is telling her no, they can’t just go to a pub. “Look,” he says, putting down his chopsticks and taking his plate to the sink, “I don’t want to sound like I’m condoning you being a dumbass, but if you wanna meet vamps, you gotta meet people. You’re not gonna “meet people” in the back corner of the same pub we always go to. You’ve gotta put yourself out there, Moira.”

She thinks for a moment, eyes narrowing at him as he heads back towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. He’s leaving something out, and she knows it; she can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asks. “It’s not like you can stage a real intervention, I don’t have any friends but you two idiots.” He laughs, letting go of her shoulder in favor of dropping back into the chair across from her. The grin on his face spells nothing but trouble.

“Olivia’s new job is at that Spiderbyte place.”

Moira thinks she may have stopped breathing.

“Interested now?” Gabriel’s smirk says it all. He knows she’s interested now, the asshole. “How the hell did she get a job there?” She already knows the answer. Olivia is the best bartender there is, and she’s infuriatingly charming. She could probably convince anyone to give her a job anywhere. (Plus, she makes a mean whiskey sour.) Gabe shrugs, and Moira huffs, annoyed. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. So you’re going to take me to some fancy club, where _all the vampires supposedly go_ , and expect me not to think about work?”

“No, I’m expecting you to go for science, and then once you’re there, we’ll make sure you have fun.”

She’s known Gabe for twenty years now, and she’s pretty sure she’s had plenty of chances to kill him in that time; she’s honestly pretty disappointed in herself. It’s too late now, though, as she’s pretty sure he told Olivia where he was going, and she’d never hear the end of it. 

So she stands up, puts her plate in the sink, and heads toward the bathroom. “You better pick me out something to wear then, I’m going to take a shower.” And if she sees his victory dance out of the corner of her eye, Moira says nothing about it.

Spiderbyte is one of the loudest and most ostentatious clubs in the city, a european-style discotheque with snooty employees and an even snootier clientele. Still, people are constantly pouring into the place, and the line for entrance always snakes down the street, even into the early hours of the morning. Luckily, it’s still pretty early and Olivia’s got their name on a list, so they get right in. “Where is Olivia, anyway?” Moira wonders out loud, and Gabe shrugs, leading her toward the bar through an already surprising amount of people. “She said she’d meet us here at 10, but you know she’s never on time.” It’s true, Moira thinks; for how much Olivia’s face is glued to her phone, she can never seem to read the clock correctly, and she’s always nearly an hour late to everything. Evidently, it’ll be awhile before she shows up, so they may as well find seats.

She spots a table near the bar with 4 chairs and moves to sit down; there’s a little card on the table that reads:

_Reserved for Dr. Moira O’Deorain_

Moira almost gets up to find another table out of spite. Instead, she holds up the card to Gabriel. “You know anything about this?”

He rolls his eyes, but can’t keep himself from smiling. “You know she’s a drama queen, Moira. Just let her be; it’s easier that way.” Moira sighs, knowing he’s right, but unwilling to admit it. She plays with the card, tearing it a bit at the fold, before letting it drop to the table. Steeling herself, she stands up, looking at Gabriel. “I’ll get us drinks. I can’t be sober in here.” Ignoring his laughter, she heads a few feet back to the bar, where a red-headed woman behind the bar is chatting with another woman sitting on a barstool. When she approaches, the bartender smiles at her, waving her over. “You’re Olivia’s friend, right? Dr. O’Deorain?” 

Moira just stares for a second, before she remembers to be polite and returns the smile. “Yes, unfortunately, Gabriel and I are Olivia’s friends. And please, call me Moira.” The girl’s grin gets even wider, if that’s possible, and she holds out her hand. “I’m Emily! It’s so great to meet you!” Moira shakes her hand, finding it’s not so difficult to keep the smile on her face; the woman’s cheeriness is contagious. “What can I get for you, Moira?” she asks, hand on her hip, waiting expectantly for an answer, so Moira orders a whiskey sour for herself and an old fashioned for Gabriel. “Perfect! Don’t worry about the tab, it’s on Olivia today!” Moira laughs quietly; she won’t argue with that.

Emily turns to the woman she was talking to before Moira approached the bar. “Another soda for you, love?” The woman responds with an exuberant “Thanks, Em!” Emily giggles, grabbing 3 glasses and some bottles from the back of the bar. Then she gets to work, mixing her drinks and sending Moira on her way with another smile, making her promise to let the bartender know if she needs anything.

Moira sits back down at the table, sliding Gabe’s drink in front of him, noticing that since her conversation at the bar, her anger and exasperation have somehow escaped her, and while she isn’t happy to be there, she’s at least feeling a little less tense than she had when she’d left her apartment. The music isn’t quite loud enough to drown out her voice (or her nerves), but it does a good enough job of distracting her from her thoughts. Not to mention, the bar isn’t that crowded yet, most people preferring dance or remain at their respective tables for now. She looks around, trying to humor Gabriel and relax, maybe do some people watching while they wait for Olivia to show up. If she has to be here wasting time instead of working at home, at least she can entertain herself.

She takes a sip of her drink, surprised at how good it tastes, and scans the dance floor. Everyone here looks like they belong on television, she notes sourly; tight, low cut dresses, makeup, glitter everywhere. They’re all gorgeous, almost unnaturally so, and it makes her hyper-aware of just how bizarre she looks compared to the rest of them. It’s not like she’s ever really cared how she looked; it’s never been that important to her. But now, surrounded by a bunch of ridiculously attractive people, she feels out of place. It doesn’t help that statistically, a good chunk of the patrons of the nightclub are probably vampires, and instead of researching, she’s glued to her chair, too nervous to get up and interact with strangers and becoming increasingly self-conscious as the minutes go by. 

Closing her eyes, Moira takes a deep breath, trying to come back to the present and stop feeling sorry for herself. She’s being irrational. She’s an adult, for god’s sake; she doesn’t need to be sitting in a club feeling jealous of a bunch of strangers. The thought does make her feel a little better, and she relaxes just slightly, letting her mind empty out along with her glass. 

“Are you done moping now?” Gabriel’s voice cuts through the music and the chatter coming from all around them, and Moira finds herself looking over at him, unaware of how much time had passed since she’d sat down. He slides another drink over to her and she nods to him in thanks, moving her now empty class to the other side of the table. “I don’t know,” she responds, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’m not sure this is the best place for me to be right now, but I know you’re right; I shouldn’t be home, either.” She presses her fingers a little more firmly against her eyes and exhales slowly, trying to relax. Gabe’s foot nudges her shin again, although this time with much less force than back in her kitchen, and she lowers her arms to look at him, leaning her chin on one hand.   
“Look, I’m not gonna make you stay if you’re miserable, but just wait for Liv, ok? If you really want, we can go to the pub or whatever when she gets here.” 

A moment passes in which Moira really wants to say yes, can we please leave once she gets here, but she refrains. She knows Gabriel’s just trying to help her. If he hadn’t showed up, she’d still be stuck in her apartment, practically trapped at her desk, obsessing over her failures. Deep breaths, Moira, she tells herself. This is a good thing, or at least she can pretend it is for one night. So instead, she tries her best not to frown and says, “I’ll be ok. You’re just shitty company, Reyes.”

“You flatter me.” 

From behind her, she hears a woman laugh, and feels someone leaning on her chair. “It’s about time someone told Gabe he was a stick-in-the-mud, bruja. Just a shame it had to be the worst stick-in-the-mud of them all.” Olivia bends down, pressing a kiss to Moira’s cheek, presumably just to annoy her, and hops into one of the empty chairs. “Look at you two, sitting and drinking at a nightclub. You’re supposed to be dancing and drinking! Or at least standing and drinking.” She gestures to the floor, where more people have arrived inside, wiggling her fingers. “I know you two are old, but you really need to learn how to party.”

Moira glares at her, although Olivia seems not to notice, instead waving down Emily, who comes over to their table and puts a shot glass down in front of her. “Hello, Liv,” the redhead laughs. “You’re not causing any trouble over here, are you?” Olivia opens her mouth, feigning shock. “Chica, I’m offended. You should know by now, I don’t know how to _not_ cause trouble.” 

Gabe and Moira nod in unison, unable to argue. Emily smiles, looking over at Moira and motioning for her to hand over her empty glass. “Well, then, I suppose Moira will have to keep you in line.” 

“She can try,” Olivia replies, watching Moira with a mysterious expression. “But we’re here to make her have fun tonight, red, so I’m more concerned with getting her _out_ of line.” Moira sighs, knowing any chance of her getting out of here has just evaporated, and takes a sip of her drink. Emily laughs, giving Moira a sympathetic look. “Well, don’t let her push you around too much,” she says, placing the glass on a tray and turning back toward the bar with a wave and yet another grin. 

“I think she likes you, bruja. Not sure why, though.” Gabe snorts. Moira wonders why she’s friends with them, for approximately the tenth time in the last hour.

“I don’t know, Liv, she cleans up pretty nice, even if it does look like she hasn’t slept in the last month.” Shooting a glare at Gabriel, she she takes another sip of her drink as Olivia cackles, trying to ignore their conversation. A few moments later, Olivia takes her shot, slamming the glass down on the table and wrinkling her nose. “Alright, you ready? Let’s find you someone to dance with.”

Moira closes her eyes, silently hoping the ground will swallow her whole, or maybe that lightning will magically strike her where she sits. When she opens her eyes, she’s sadly still in a nightclub, surrounded by people, with Olivia staring at her expectantly. “Come on!” she whispers excitedly, jumping up and down in her chair and holding out her hand. “Earth to Moira? It’s time to find you a dance partner. I would volunteer, but I’d just make you look bad.” Trying her best to ignore Olivia, Moira finishes her drink and glances at Gabriel, hoping he’ll step in before she gets dragged out of her seat.

“Liv, you know Moira can’t dance. Besides, she only agreed to come for science, not because she’s actually capable of relaxing.” Moira groans, leaning her head back in defeat. Gabe’s not wrong, although she’ll never say it out loud. She’s not sure she’s voluntarily relaxed at any point in the last ten years, which, when she thinks about it too hard, is pretty horrifying. Between work, research, and then basically destroying her own career, she hasn’t had much time for leisure.

“Oh, alright, fine,” Olivia pouts, clearly exasperated, and Moira tries not to feel bad, running through all of the ridiculous pranks Olivia’s pulled on her recently in her head so she’s not tempted to give in. Something must distract her from her pestering, though, because it doesn’t take long for an evil grin to light her face back up, immediately putting Moira on edge again. 

“I forgot! I’ve got someone to introduce you guys to!” she shouts, nearly knocking her chair over as she stands up. “I’ll be right back. And you,” she points to Moira, purple stiletto nails barely a centimeter from her nose, “will be nice. ¿Entiendes?” Her expression has completely changed, grin replaced with a scowl. Moira nods, dumbfounded. It must be someone important if Olivia’s being that serious about it; maybe she’s seeing someone? She looks over to Gabriel for clarification, but he only shrugs, standing and picking up their glasses. “I don’t have a fucking clue, Mor. I never do with that one. At least you’re predictable; I don’t even think she knows what she’s gonna do until she’s already done it.” Moira laughs - an actual laugh - and even Gabe notices, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“About time you pulled your head out of your ass,” he tells her. “I’m getting you another drink.”

⧫  
part II - doubt  
 _“I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.” ― Bram Stoker, Dracula._

Gabriel’s only been gone for a few minutes when she notices Olivia waving at her from a few feet away. She skips over to the table, clutching another shot class in one hand, while two women trail behind her, each carrying a glass of wine. “Where’d Gabe go?” she asks, and Moira points toward the bar, which is apparently a good enough answer. She grabs a chair from a neighboring table and slides it over, plopping down in the space beside Moira. “Bruja, I would like to introduce you to Amélie Guillard, proprietor of this fine establishment.” She gestures toward the taller of her two companions, an imposing woman with long, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her tight black suit jacket is open, as is the white shirt underneath, revealing a lacy black bra and torso covered with tattoos. Her heels give her almost as much height as Moira, and her skin is almost grey under the cool lighting of the club, making her look like a character from a black-and-white movie.

“Amélie, this is Moira O’Deorain.”

“Nice to meet you,” Moira says, hoping her voice carries over the music. It must, because Amélie nods, showing just a hint of teeth. “Enchantée.” Luckily, she makes no move to shake Moira’s hand, instead only swirling her glass of wine before taking a sip. Olivia looks back at Moira, this time gesturing to her other companion, a blonde woman dressed almost entirely in white. “And this lovely lady is Angela Ziegler. I’m not really sure what she does, but it’s probably important.” 

Angela laughs. “Oh, I just show up for the Riesling,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. Olivia cackles at that, and Amélie smirks behind her wine glass. Angela’s in a suit as well, with a high-collared black shirt and white heels. Her and Amélie look like polar opposites, and Moira wonders if their coordinating outfits were intentional. The blonde’s smile is wider and much warmer, though, and she looks directly at Moira as she says, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Moira.” 

Even in the terrible lighting, her eyes are a startling blue, and Moira barely even registers that she’s being addressed. She finds herself unable to break eye contact with Angela, knuckles turning white where her fingers are clutching her glass like a lifeline. She finally manages to open her mouth after a few seconds, clearing her throat and answering back with a quick, “you too” before she looks away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Gabriel chooses that moment to come back from the bar, placing their drinks down, looking from Moira to Olivia to the visitors at their table. Olivia slings an arm around his shoulders once he’s in his chair. “Gabi, I was just introducing Amélie to Moira. And this is her friend Angela! I invited her to come have a drink with us.”

Gabriel inclines his head toward them and says, “Nice to meet you, Angela. Any friend of Liv’s is a friend of mine, although I’m sure I’ll regret that one day.” Angela gives him a small wave in reply, and Amélie rolls her eyes, although another small smile does appear on her face briefly. “Don’t I know it, Gabriel,” she says, just as someone pops up behind her and refills her glass of wine. “She is certainly a troublemaker. It’s a shame she’s the best bartender in the city.” Moira realizes that Gabriel must have already met Amélie, judging by the way they’re speaking. She pushes down a small surge of jealousy, trying to remind herself that she’s the one who’s been hiding in her apartment for two weeks.

Olivia pouts, hooking her arm around Amélie’s waist, pulling her into the empty chair beside her. She can’t hold the pout for long, and a mischievous smile quickly replaces it. “You forgot about my best quality, Amé.” Amélie snorts in reply, looking down and pretending to inspect her nails. Moira takes a sip of her drink and thinks oh, here we go. She looks at Gabe, both of them knowing something foul is about to leave Olivia’s mouth. He mouths something to her but she doesn’t catch it, too distracted by the movement beside her as Angela sits down. “And what would that be, Olivia?” the blonde asks, expression playful. 

Moira and Gabriel turn to her at the same time, about to warn her, but Amélie holds up her hand to stop them, her lips quirked slightly. “Her work ethic, obviously.” Amélie’s answer comes before Olivia can even open her mouth, and she frowns. “Aw, I thought you were going to say my ass.”

“You know what they say about assuming, chérie.” Amélie chides, taking a sip of her wine, and leans back in her chair. Next to her, Angela chuckles, setting her glass down and crossing her arms on the table. Moira glances at her out of the corner of her eye, jumping slightly when she realizes Angela is staring right at her. Now, she’s more than used to people’s eyes on her, so that isn’t really anything out of the ordinary. She towers over most people, with her lanky arms and abnormally long legs, and nine times out of ten she’s at least a head taller than any man in the room. So no, it’s not that Angela’s looking at her; it’s the way she’s doing it. She’s just...watching, almost as if she’s waiting for Moira to do something shocking. 

The next few seconds seem to go on forever, and yet, when Angela finally tears her eyes away, Moira finds herself wishing she could stretch the time out just a little longer. Her hands are still wrapped tightly around her glass, so much so that it’s starting to hurt; she tries to loosen her grip and slow down her breathing, concentrating on a spot just above Angela’s left shoulder. Moira hears Olivia’s laugh somewhere off to the side, along with the slamming of a shot glass on the table and it shocks her back to the present. 

She looks around, trying to figure out what she’s missed. Gabe glances at her, raising an eyebrow, but says nothing, turning back to Olivia, who’s nearly in Amélie’s lap. “I think you need some water, Liv.” 

She scoffs at him, making an obscene gesture. “I think _you_ need some-mmph!” Thankfully, Amélie places a hand over her mouth, stopping the inevitable argument before it starts. “I don’t think you want to finish that sentence, chérie.” Olivia rolls her eyes, but relents, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, fine.” 

Moira is grateful that someone else is on Olivia duty for the night, as it usually ends up being her that’s got to stop the younger woman from saying something stupid or starting a fight, and in the state she’s in, that’s not going to happen. “Thank you,” she tells Amélie, who nods to her in recognition, the ghost of a smirk appearing on her face. “Not a problem. I like to think of it as a public service.” 

Before Moira can reply, Olivia exhales dramatically, leaning over and placing her hands on top of Moira’s, “Oh, Bruja, don’t be jealous. I still love you and Gabe even though you’re boring old fogies.” She lets go, and Moira yanks her hands back from her glass, trying to create some distance between them. Gabe grumbles something that sounds like “keep me out of this,” and Moira just sighs, defeated, thinking of all the work she could be getting done at home. Hell, she could be drunk on her couch wallowing in self-pity and it would probably better than this; at least she’d be comfortable.

She watches as Angela finishes the last of her wine, and before she can put it down, a waiter is at her side with another one. She mumbles something to them in french, presumably a thank you, and turns to Amélie, who is trying to ignore Olivia’s prodding. “I feel like I should start coming here more often. If nothing else, the company is entertaining.” 

Gabriel laughs, gesturing towards Olivia. “That’s a nice way of saying she’s ridiculous.”

“Gabe, you’re pronouncing “has a nice ass” wrong.”

He takes a deep breath, turning back to Angela. “I apologize for her, she’s always been like this.”

“It seems like you would know. So how did you all meet? You’ve obviously know each other for a while.” Angela asks, this time directing the question at all three of them. Gabe smacks his hand against his head, while Moira just shuts her eyes, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. Olivia claps excitedly, scooting her chair away from Amélie slightly and turning to face Angela. “Oh, Moira and Gabe have known each other since forever, but they lived a dull and lifeless existence before I came along.”

“Oh, do continue,” Angela says, trying to keep from laughing. Moira looks at Gabe, knowing this is about to be a disaster area; judging by his face, he’s thinking the same thing. They sigh, silently agreeing that this particular battle is one they can’t win. Moira looks at Olivia, who’s nearly bursting with glee, and waves her hand in a motion that says _go ahead, do your worst_. She won’t say it loud, lest Olivia take her seriously, but clearly she gets the message, clapping one last time before clearing her throat dramatically.

“It all started back when Gabe and Moira were babies at college in like, 1902,” Olivia starts, a dreamy look in her eyes. “They were in a bunch of the same classes and were both grumpy assholes, so naturally they became the best of friends.” Moira wonders if her eyes can possibly go any further back in her head, and if Olivia even knows how old either of them really are.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at her. “First of all, try the 90’s. And second of all, I’m not sure you’re qualified to tell this part of the story, considering you weren’t there.” She only waves her hand in response. “Oh, don’t worry, I was basically there. It’s not like the story gets interesting until I come in, anyway.”

Moira snorts, watching as Olivia pauses to take a shot from another small glass that’s mysteriously appeared at the table. “She’s modest too, in case anyone hadn’t realized.”

Surprisingly, Olivia ignores her, although Gabriel smirks, holding back a chuckle. Angela, however, turns to look straight at her as she speaks. Her face breaks into a smile, and Moira immediately regrets opening her mouth as she feels her cheeks heat up. She tries to concentrate on the story again, keeping her eyes locked on Olivia, who by this point is halfway out of her chair, arms propped on the edge of the table.

“So fast forward to about five years ago, Gabe got a job at one of the companies I do tech consulting for, and one day I accidentally threw an external hard drive at his head when he told me my hair looked stupid-”

“It did look stupid.”

Olivia keeps talking, but she’s stopped listening. It’s taking all of her concentration to keep from looking back at Angela, and eventually Moira breaks down, settling for observing her out of the corner of her eye while she struggles to return her attention to the story. She finds it's a bit more difficult than she expected, mostly because Angela apparently has no such concern; every single time her gaze slides over toward Angela, trying desperately to be subtle, she finds other woman blatantly staring at her, chin propped up on one hand, lips upturned in a sweet smile. It’s maddening. 

“And the three of us have been best buds ever since!” Olivia nearly shouts, shocking her out of her thoughts. Gabriel says something in reply, but Moira doesn’t catch it over the music, which only seems to be getting louder. The conversation starts to fade out of the forefront of her mind again, voices getting softer and background noise getting more and more pronounced. She knocks back the rest of her drink (which is mostly water by now), and contemplates getting up for a moment to get another. Getting drunk wasn’t really in her game plan tonight, but it’s not as if she’s getting out of here any time soon, and she can’t seem to shake the strange feeling that’s settled over her. Maybe taking a walk will help? 

Moira glances at her friends, now both engaged in conversation with Angela and Amélie, and decides she can probably slip out without making too much of a fuss. Picking up her glass, she stands up and heads over to the bar, making eye contact with Gabe as she passes and nodding, just to make sure he won’t be suspicious. 

After she drops her glass at the bar, she looks out across the crowd, trying to figure out where the exit is, finding one just to her left. Before she gets a chance to move, however, a glass of white wine is plopped down right in front of her, its owner’s hand crossed right over hers. Moira stares at it for a moment in confusion, before turning to see who’s invading her personal space. She finds herself looking down into the face of one Angela Ziegler, whose bright blue eyes are now twinkling with a mischief she’s all too familiar with, after years of being friends with Olivia. “Did you need another glass?” Moira asks, luckily sounding much more composed than she feels. Angela shakes her head, moving her hand from her glass to Moira’s arm, and she leans forward, getting as close as she can. “Are you not having fun?” 

Her voice is only a whisper, and yet Moira hears it clearly over the noise of the other people crowding the bar. She’s smiling like she already knows Moira’s answer, but she says nothing else, waiting patiently for a response. Part of Moira wants to say _no, I’m having a terrible time so I’ve decided to drink my weight in whiskey and now I need to get the hell out of here because you’re too pretty_ , but instead she just shrugs, finding herself unable to speak with Angela so close to her. She’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or her nerves, but her entire body is screaming at her to get outside, somewhere away from all the noise and all the people, especially gorgeous blonde women who seem to be able to see right through her.

Said woman is still looking at her, waiting. Moira runs her free hand through her hair. “I just needed to clear my head.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth either, and if Angela’s sudden frown is anything to go by, she can tell. Her eyebrows knit together in concern, and her grip tightens on Moira’s arm almost imperceptibly. Something about the expression stops Moira’s thoughts in their tracks; Angela looks so much more real, more vulnerable. 

“I can help if you like,” she says, She looks Moira in the eye again, but this time there is no mischief, no appraisal. She isn’t the devastating blonde in a suit right now, just a woman who actually seems worried about her, although Moira can’t tell why. It’s almost as if she sincerely wants to help. And suddenly, Moira wants to let her. She sighs, letting her eyes fall shut briefly, wondering how long it’s going to take for her to regret this.

Whatever Angela sees in her eyes when she open them must seem like acquiescence, because she slides her hand to grasp Moira’s; before she can get a word in edgewise, Angela is moving, weaving through the crowd with Moira in tow. She doesn’t quite realize that they’ve made it to the edge of the dance floor until Angela lets go of her hand, at which point she knows exactly the shade of red she must be turning. “I’m sorry, but I, um, can’t dance.” Angela smiles, the mischievous glint back in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I can dance well enough for the both of us. But I will admit, I’m not really interested in dancing. I just wanted to get you away from your friends.”

Moira swallows, suddenly very aware of how fast her heart is beating. “Why?”

“Well, you clearly weren’t having a good time over there.” Angela says, and after a second adds, “So I figured I’d steal you away.” Angela’s arms slide over Moira’s shoulders, hands not quite meeting at the back of her neck. “This ok?” She asks, and when Moira nods, she steps a few inches closer. Moira breathes deeply, trying to quiet the pulse she feels hammering in her chest. Angela’s arms are a comforting weight on her neck, and she lets herself be swayed slightly to the beat of the music. “You know,” Angela says, “you can touch me if you want. I won’t bite.” 

Moira’s eyes snap down to Angela and she feels her face heat up, remembering she’s been standing with her arms nearly plastered to her sides since they’d found their way into the crowd. Angela only smiles, winking as Moira gingerly places hands on her waist. “That’s better. So, what made you come here in the first place? Or who?” Angela asks, tearing her eyes away and glancing toward the corner of the club they’d just left.

She supposes it can’t hurt to answer. “Well,” she says, “I’ve been stuck in the house working on some research for a few weeks, so Gabe dragged me out here tonight to meet Olivia for drinks. They won’t call it an intervention, but that’s exactly what it is.” She feels the pressure on her neck increase briefly, and Angela hums in acknowledgement. “You're lucky to have found such good friends, Moira. It seems like they both really care about you.” 

_They certainly have a funny way of showing it_ , Moira thinks to herself. She sighs, deciding it’s best not to voice that particular opinion. “Mm, I know they do, even if their way of showing it is a little abnormal. To say the least. If they didn’t, I’d probably be trapped in my apartment under a pile of books.” A pout appears on Angela’s face, but it vanishes as quickly as it came; Moira finds herself wondering how she can look so cute one moment and so intimidating the next. “So what are you researching?” she asks. “Unless it’s super secret, in which case, feel free to make something up, I won’t be upset."

Moira’s sure that Angela’s only asking to be nice; most people stop listening the second she starts talking about science, and the once that don’t zone out inevitably end up trying to run away when she starts talking about vampires. But for some reason, between Angela’s arms around her and the honest, curious expression on her face, she can’t help herself. Something about this woman makes Moira want to tell her everything, and she hates it.

“Don’t laugh,” Moira whispers, taking a deep breath and steeling herself. She half-hopes it will go unheard over the music, but Angela nods, prompting her to continue. “It’s about vampires.”

Angela looks at her for a long time, not saying anything, and Moira has a terrible suspicion that she’s made a mistake. After what feels like forever, Angela bites her lip, the beginning of a giggle spilling out of her mouth before she manages to stop herself. _Ah, there it is_ , Moira thinks. The same reaction she gets from everyone else. It’s like her publication all over again, except instead of every nameless internet critic, this one has a face, and she’d been stupid enough to think it would end differently somehow. She backs up a step, letting her arms fall to her sides, desperately wanting to run despite feeling like she’s bolted to the floor.

Moira’s thoughts must show on her face, because Angela’s brow furrows, her mouth twisting into a frown. “No, no, please don’t leave,” Angela pleads, squeezing Moira’s shoulders to stop her from pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I know I promised, but I’m not laughing because I think it’s funny or stupid, Moira.” Her tone is very serious, and Moira believes her, despite the fact that everyone says the same thing when she talks about her work. “I’m laughing because it’s perfect.” 

At this point, Moira’s pretty sure she’s forgotten how to breathe, going completely still in Angela’s grip. “What are you talking about?” she asks. Angela’s hands move from her shoulders to clasp behind her neck, and she stands on the balls of her feet, leaning to whisper in Moira’s ear. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, on one condition: I’d like to take you on a date.”

Moira opens her mouth, but shuts it after a moment, her mind suddenly blank. She has so many questions that she doesn’t know where to start, so she just starts at the beginning. “So you’re... a vampire?” she asks, slow and quiet, struggling to put words together when her tongue feels like it’s made of lead. Once she’s gotten the words out, though, everything seems to hit her at once. She runs a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down, because apparently the woman in front of her isn’t mocking her, she’s just a vampire. That makes total sense, except it doesn’t at all. “You’re a vampire,” she repeats, almost to herself, the word echoing dangerously in her ears.

Angela moves away just enough to lock eyes with Moira again. After a few seconds, she smiles, and Moira catches a glimpse of her teeth, which were _definitely_ not that pronounced before. “I am,” she admits, scrunching her nose slightly; she almost looks bashful, pointedly looking away for a moment before giving up and hiding her face in Moira’s neck. 

She has a passing thought that she should be more scared than she is, especially with Angela breathing (do vampires actually breathe? she’s never asked) down her neck, but if anything, it makes Moira feel a little better that Angela seems as anxious about the whole thing as she does. 

It still doesn’t explain one thing, though, and Moira takes a deep breath, pushing away her nerves for the moment. “So then why would you want to go out with me?” she asks, confused. Angela is gorgeous, and apparently undead; Moira is tall and awkward, and up until recently, her heart was beating regularly. She’s not quite sure how the conversation got here, but she’s pretty sure Angela is way out of her league. 

Angela lifts her head, mouth back at Moira’s ear. “Hmm, I’m pretty sure I can tell what you’re thinking right now. Can I tell you a secret?” 

Moira exhales, her breathing just as unsteady as she expected. “To be honest, Angela, I’m not sure how much more information I can take.” She realizes it’s the first time she’s said Angela’s name. Angela laughs, leaning all the way back. Her eyes are twinkling when she looks at Moira. “Oh, it’s not that kind of secret, it’s a fun one.”

Oh, what the hell. “Alright.” 

“You,” she starts, pausing for a second with a thoughtful expression. “Are exactly my type.”

Moira blinks, finding herself incapable of opening her mouth. Luckily, Angela seems to have no problem filling in any gaps in conversation. “I saw you come in with Gabriel and knew I had to talk to you, but I didn’t want to scare you. So when Olivia came over to get Amélie and told us you were both there to meet her, I figured it was the perfect opportunity. Although, I think I still ended up scaring you, didn’t I?” 

“To be fair, I’m not exactly used to people trying to talk to me. Usually they just stare for a few seconds and move on, not...whatever you were doing.” Moira finds herself suppressing a laugh as Angela pushes further into her neck, groaning. “Ugh, I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Moira replies. “I don’t think it would have bothered me so much if it wasn’t so noisy and crowded. I was already desperate to get out of here before you even came over.”

“You’re right, it is pretty loud in here,” Angela says, loosening her grip on Moira and stepping back, a gentle smile on her face. “Would you like to go outside and talk? I know somewhere a bit quieter.”

Moira looks back down at her and takes a deep breath. “Alright.” She glances in the direction of the table she’d left a few minutes ago, frowning slightly. “I should let Gabe know, so he doesn’t think I tried to walk back home,” she says, lip quirking again at Angela’s confused expression. “It only happened once.”

Angela laughs, letting go of her with one last squeeze of her hand, and lets Moira lead them back over to the table, where Olivia is taking a sip of Amélie’s wine, making a disgusted face only a second later. As they approach, Olivia jumps from her chair and shrieks, “Bruja! There you are!” Thankfully, the universe must want to save her from further embarrassment, because Amélie yanks her down into her lap, smirking at Moira, and whispers something in Olivia’s ear that makes her go quiet, a thoughtful expression on her face. Moira decides to ignore them in favor of Gabriel, absolutely sure she does not want to overhear any part of their conversation.

“Gonna go take a walk?” he asks her, smirking like an asshole, and looks over at Angela. “Just make sure she doesn’t try and walk home. Once was enough.” Moira narrows her eyes at him, but Angela nudges her before she can reply that it _only happened once_. “I promise to bring her back to you intact,” she tells him, a giggle escaping her lips at the very last moment. “Or mostly, anyway.” 

Moira chokes on her own spit, her face turning redder than her hair, while Gabriel just shrugs. 

“Works for me.”

She tries her best to ignore Olivia’s cackling as they head toward the door.

⧫  
part III - dare  
 _“Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes.”  
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray_

Angela leads them outside and around the block, down a path illuminated only by the occasional street lamp. Her heels click on the pavement, and Moira finds herself counting their steps as they walk, trying to slow her breathing lest her heart pop out of her chest. Suddenly, Angela stops in the middle of the street, looking back at Moira. “We’re here.”

She looks around, not quite sure where _here_ is. They’ve stopped in front of a two-story brick building with ivy and moss crawling up the sides. It sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the buildings around it, both due to age and style; there aren’t many buildings like this left in the city these days, and the ones that she’s seen look much more decrepit than this one. The bricks are a warm red, and the foliage sneaking its way across the surface seems like it’s growing exactly where it’s supposed to be. “Amélie lives on the bottom floor, and I’ve got the top. There’s a patio on the roof that’s got a great view.” Angela opens the gate, walking over to a set of stairs, and holds out her hand to Moira again. “Shall we?” 

Moira takes it, trailing behind Angela as she climbs up the stairs. When they reach the top, she motions over to one side, where there’s a table, a couch, and a couple of chairs. “You can sit down if you like. I’ll put one of the lights on.” She walks across the patio in the direction Angela had pointed, past several shelves of potted plants, and takes a seat on the couch, looking out at the city in front of her. Most of the lights seem to be obscured from up here, and a handful of stars are still visible across the endless night sky. It’s strangely peaceful, despite the occasional sound of cars and the faint music echoing from the club down the street. 

A light clicks on just as she sits down, illuminating her surroundings just enough for Moira see what’s on the table in front of her. There’s a bunch of blankets folded up on a shelf underneath and a stack of books on top, along with a pile of notebooks whose pages are curled up from excessive wear. A cluster of tangled silver-colored jewelry balances atop one of the checkered coasters in the corner. It reminds Moira of her own workspace; although it’s much neater, clearly it’s a space that sees a good deal of use. 

“Do you spend a lot of time up here?” she asks to the empty air, assuming Angela can hear her from where she’s disappeared to. She must have guessed correctly, as the woman’s voice echoes from across the patio when she answers. “I do. I started coming up here at night when I was feeling restless, but then I realized I liked it better than being holed up in my office.” The voice gets closer, until finally, it’s right behind her, and Angela circles the table, sitting down next to her on the couch. She kicks off her heels and draws her feet up under her knees, her shoulder just barely touching Moira’s. “Plus, it’s a good place to get work done, since no one bothers me up here.” 

Moira doubts she would be able to work in an office, either, if she had a place like this do do her research instead. No one would be able to barge in with chinese food and drag her to nightclubs, either, that was for certain. “So, what do you do?” she asks, turning her head towards Angela. The woman takes a deep breath, leaning more fully against Moira’s shoulder.

“I’m a doctor,” she answers. “I’ve been in a ton of different fields the years: general medicine, surgery, oncology, you name it. Mainly, I’m trying to figure out a way to use the components of vampire blood to heal human injuries.”

Moira stares for a moment, unable to formulate a reply. She’s not the sort of person to believe in fate or anything like that, but she has to have met Angela tonight for a reason. How else can she explain it? They’re so different, yes, but the similarities are hard to ignore. “I’m a geneticist,” she says, beginning in just a whisper, clearing her throat before continuing. “I wrote a theoretical paper about variance in genomes and what vampirism could mean to genetics, and within a day, I was totally blacklisted by the scientific community. It’s been a year now, and anything I publish is immediately thrown out. It’s like they don’t want to believe it.”

Angela wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ugh. They never change. Most human doctors are more concerned with what they pretend the problem is instead of what it actually is, no matter what they study. It could be that they’re afraid of the truth, or just afraid of what it means. You know what would happen if you solved it; it would knock them all on their asses. It’s easier for them to not believe. Moira. I’d say you should talk to some vampire doctors, but there aren’t too many around here, so you’ll have to settle for me.”

A small smile starts to form on her lips, and Moira nods. “I think I can deal with that.” She finds herself thinking she may have to thank Gabriel after all. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better about my staggering failure, though. I appreciate it.”

“I meant it. And if you really want to hear from more than one of us, I’m sure Amélie would talk to you.”

Moira coughs gracelessly, leaning a hand on the arm of the couch to steady herself. _What?_ “Wait, Amélie’s a vampire too?” She looks back at Angela, raising an eyebrow. “Am I that oblivious?” 

“I wouldn’t say you’re oblivious, Moira. It seems to me like the rest of the world tends to disappear when you’re very focused on something. In this case, you were focused on being miserable, and you didn’t notice the fact that Amélie and I were vampires, or the fact that I was clearly checking you out.” 

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. When I’m really focused on something, usually work, I just tend to forget about everything else.” She still can’t believe she was so distracted that she missed something like _that_. She’d been sitting at a table with two vampires and hadn’t even noticed, not even when one of them had been, literally, right in her face.

Angela pats Moira’s hand in what Moira assumes is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the quirk of her lip betrays her. “I have to admit, it made me wonder what it would be like to be the object of that sort of focus.” It takes a moment for Angela’s words to register, but when they do, Moira feels her face immediately heat up. 

“I do want you to know something, Moira. Even though I was serious about wanting to go on a date, I don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes. I’d still be happy to answer whatever questions you might have.” Moira is pretty sure her face can’t get any hotter at this point, and she tries desperately not to think about how flushed she probably is. 

“I don’t mind,” she manages to say after a moment. “I don’t think it’d be so bad.”

Angela laughs, touching Moira’s cheek. Compared to her burning skin, Angela’s feels cool, and she can’t help leaning into the touch. “Oh, I’m so glad I got to you before someone else did.” Moira isn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, and her confusion must show on her face, because Angela smiles, giving her a knowing look.

“Well, you must have missed that too, but I didn’t,” she says, winking. “I was back by the bar with Olivia and Amélie when you first came in. Everyone was watching you and Gabriel, not just me. I knew if I didn’t approach you, someone else would.”

Moira raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure they didn’t just want to eat us?”

“Um, I’m pretty sure it was a sex thing, but if you’d like to go back inside and get clarification, you are welcome to do that.”

She clears her throat, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. Angela’s hand is still on her cheek, so she tries concentrating on that instead of the multitude of thoughts racing around her brain. “Oh. Ok. No, I’m good out here, thanks.”

“Oh, Moira, you don’t need to worry. Most vampires nowadays don’t actually kill humans. You’d be surprised how many weird blood alternatives there are on the market. I haven’t had actual blood in over thirty years now.”

That’s...surprising. Not bad, just, unexpected. After all, it’s not like she wanted Angela to kill her and drink her blood. Moira wonders idly about the secret synthetic blood market, and how long it’s been around. “How long have you been a vampire?” she blurts out, immediately shutting her mouth afterward. She frowns, hoping she hasn’t asked something inappropriate. “I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

Angela smiles at her, that same blinding smile as when they were first introduced. “Of course I don’t mind, schatz. It’s not the most interesting story, I suppose, but I think you’ll find it’s not terribly different than yours.” Her fingers fall from Moira’s cheek, and she pulls her arms toward herself, leaning her chin against her hands. “Hmmm...where do I start?” she asks, mostly to herself. “I don’t exactly have a lot of practice with this one.” She shifts slightly, and her knee bumps against Moira’s, but neither of them attempts to move away. 

“Alright, here goes. I was born in Zurich in 1832. I was an only child, and my parents were both military surgeons. I don’t really remember their faces now, but I do remember that I became a doctor in their memory after they were killed in action. I wanted to help save lives during wartime, and even though it wasn’t easy, I was definitely good at it. 

When I was about thirty, I was working in eastern France, and one of the men bringing in patients from an explosion was hurt pretty badly. I ran over to stitch him up, but he told me that other people needed more help than he did. I didn’t understand, but something in the back of my head told me to listen, even though I knew he would die with all the blood he’d lost. I couldn’t keep my mind off of him, but when I went back to find him, he was gone.

A few nights later, he walked into my medical tent good as new. I couldn’t believe my eyes; at first, I thought I was seeing a ghost. He sat down in front of me and and asked me how he could help.

When we got some time alone, I asked how he’d healed so quickly.” She looks up at Moira then, lifting her head from her hands. “I think you can guess what his answer was.” 

Moira nods. “A vampire.”

“A vampire,” Angela echoes. “Of course I’d heard stories, everyone had back then, but coming face to face with it was totally different. It wasn’t just a bedtime story anymore. At first, I was terrified, not of him, but of the fact that vampires existed at all.” Moira nods, knowing the feeling. When she’d learned vampires were real, she hadn’t slept for a week, and wouldn’t go anywhere at night without Gabriel for the longest time. It definitely wasn’t something you just learned about and immediately accepted.

“The more we talked, the less afraid I was, and the more interested I became. I realized how much this could help people, if I could figure out how to use it. I asked him to make me a vampire, and he refused. A doctor is supposed to save humans, he said, not kill them. And no matter what I said to him, he wouldn’t do it. He was stubborn.” 

“I imagine you were, too,” Moira says, fighting back a smile.

“Oh, I definitely was. And even though he kept refusing me, he still came to the med tent every night to help me with my patients. One night, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I called him a hypocrite. I told him he cared about people, he still saved humans, so what was the difference? Why couldn’t I do the same? I wanted to help people, and I was so tired of being vulnerable. If I could take care of myself, defend myself, heal myself, think of how many people I could save in places where I couldn’t normally go. Not to mention, if I could figure out how vampires healed so fast, you think that wouldn’t help people?

You’re forgetting one thing, he said. You’ll need to drink blood. You will hunger for it more than anything else you’ve ever desired before. Tell me how you’ll manage in an operating room, or in a warzone, or in a hospital full of children.

I won’t become a killer, I told him. The last thing I want is to hurt people.

The look he gave me, I’ll never forget it as long as I live, Moira. You deserve better than this, he said. I told him it was what I wanted, and if he wouldn’t do it, I’d find someone who would. And when I next woke up, I immediately knew he’d granted my wish. The world was completely different. Brighter. Sharper. Louder. I felt as though I’d been stuck behind a screen for my entire life, not knowing what everything really looked like.

And then within a moment, I could smell it; the death, the suffering happening all around me. It was awful. The scent of blood was everywhere, and he was right; I wanted it so badly, but I hated it more. So I got up, and I went back to work.” 

_Just like that?_ Moira can’t imagine what Angela must have gone through, vampire or not. She’s spent a good deal of her career in a cozy lab, and the rest of it on her couch; she’s technically a doctor, but she’s never had to encounter death and violence so close up. She’s not sure she could deal with that and keep going. 

“Did you ever see him again?” she wonders out loud. 

“Oh, I see him a couple times a year. He enjoys catching up and reminding me how reckless I am.”

Moira snorts. “I mean, he’s not wrong. But I think it was pretty brave of you.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it that. I was so determined, and if you asked me now I couldn’t tell you why. I was being selfish, and I don’t think I understood just how hard it would be to stick to my ideals. I thought I’d be the exception to the rule, but I wasn’t. I killed people and drank their blood, and I made excuses, telling myself it was what I had to do to survive. But at the end of the day, I started to lose myself. I felt less and less like the people around me with every day that went by. Now, I almost feel like I’m only trying to help humanity so I can stay connected to it.” 

Angela looks away momentarily, but Moira sees the unshed tears at the corner of her eyes before she moves her head away. She puts her hand in Angela’s and squeezes lightly, and Angela takes a shaky breath before mimicking the gesture. “Thank you for listening, Moira.”

“Of course,” she replies, and for a long time after, neither of them speaks. Angela puts her head on Moira’s shoulder, and Moira leans back on the couch, listening to her breath evening out. It’s gotten much quieter, the noise of the club and passing cars seeming even more far away now. Eventually, a thought comes to her, and Moira asks, “So what happened after that? How did you end up here?”

“Well, I’m sure you know how difficult it is to be a doctor in the public eye.” Moira nods. “It’s even trickier when you don’t age, apparently, so I’ve been laying low recently, mostly sticking to research and writing. I met Amélie briefly in Paris about a century ago and we became friends over the years; when she came to London and opened the club, she offered me a place to stay and work.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she tends to get lonely.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type.”

Angela laughs. “She hides it pretty well. I’m glad she’s found Olivia though, she needs someone to keep her on her toes or she’ll get bored.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I think Liv is up to the challenge.” She smirks, glad that Angela is smiling again. “I do have one more question, though, if you’re up to answering it.” She watches Angela put her free hand under her chin, humming like she’s considering it. After she sees Moira rolling her eyes, her serious expression falters and another laugh escapes her mouth. “I don’t mind, Moira. Go ahead,” she says, giving Moira’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Do you regret it?” 

“I assume you mean do I regret strong-arming a 7 foot German man into turning me into a vampire?” Moira nods, trying to stop herself from laughing. Angela doesn’t seem to mind though, knocking their knees together again. “No, I don’t think I do. I may regret a lot of things I’ve done, but not that.” She pauses for a moment, separating their hands so she can stretch her arms, and turns, lifting her head. “Well I suppose after all that, I deserve to ask you a question as well.” 

“I probably owe you more than one,” Moira replies. It’s only fair, since Angela’s basically told Moira her life story, and she can’t pretend that she wouldn't answer any question Angela asked her, anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Moira isn’t sure what question she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. She opens her mouth to answer, trying to somehow will herself to stop blushing. Through some small mercy, she manages to get out an “okay,” and after only a second, Angela leans up and presses their mouths together, steadying herself with a hand on Moira’s shoulder. Angela’s lips are warmer than her hands, Moira thinks idly, but she loses her train of thought as Angela moves closer to her, closing any gaps between them. 

It’s not until Angela breaks the kiss that Moira realizes they’re still sitting side by side, leaning into each other at an awkward angle. “This isn’t very comfortable, is it?” she asks, and Moira shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak. Angela smiles and stands up, taking off her jacket and draping it on the back of the couch; this time, when she sits back down, it’s right in Moira’s lap. “Is this better?” Angela’s voice is right in her ear now, impossibly close and yet not close enough. Moira hums in agreement, wrapping her arms around Angela’s waist, one hand on the small of her back. Way better. Angela kisses her again, wrapping one arm more securely around Moira’s shoulders and cradling her head with the other, tugging gently on the hair at the nape of Moira’s neck. She moves down to Moira’s jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there, before finding her way back, running her tongue across Moira’s lower lip.

Eventually, Angela pulls away, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Moira’s mouth; a shock of dark red lipstick is smeared down her chin, and she bites her lip, looking Moira up and down. “Oh, dear. I forgot about the lipstick.” Moira snorts, realizing her face must look even worse. “It’s not a bad look on you, though, if I’m being honest,” Angela says as she wipes some off of Moira’s jaw. One of her hands trails down Moira’s throat to the collar of her shirt, which she tugs back into place gently. “I think maybe we should go back, or I might break my promise,” she tells Moira, who hopes she’s not imagining the regret in her voice. Angela reaches up and runs her fingers through Moira’s hair, humming as she pushes it back out of her face. 

Moira inhales sharply, realizing that going back to the club is absolutely the last thing she wants to do, and not just because she doesn’t want Angela to get up. “Actually,” she replies, her voice still a little shaky, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not go back in there. It’s super loud, and apparently, everyone will just stare at me again.”

Angela giggles, the mischievous glint back in her eye like it had never left. “Oh, alright.” She twists in Moira’s grip slightly, reaching for her jacket in the back of the couch, and pulls out a phone from one of the pockets. “I’ll just text Amélie, then; she can tell Gabriel,” she says, leaning back against Moira’s shoulder and typing on the screen. “I’m going to tell her I’ll bring you back to your apartment before sunrise,” she says. “Is that alright?”

“That’s fine with me. Still promising to bring me back mostly intact?” 

“Hmm, not sure. I can always deny I said that, if anyone asks. You wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Moira wonders exactly how she got here, when it seems like only a minute ago she was letting Gabriel into her apartment and trying to stop him from dragging her out. 

Angela looks up at her, and her smile makes Moira’s breath catch in her throat. “Oh, Moira. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

⧫  
(Back at the club)

Gabe looks over as Amélie uncrosses her legs, pulling a cell phone from her pants pocket. She looks down intently for a moment, typing an answer to whatever message was so important, and then looks back up at him, an eyebrow raised elegantly.

“Well, don’t expect to see your friend for the rest of the night.”

Gabe sends her a confused look, and she smirks, sliding her phone to him across the table. “Will she be okay?” he asks, looking back up at her. “Not to worry,” she replies as he slides it back over to her. “She will be safe with Angela.” He nods, relaxing slightly. It might be counterproductive if he got Moira killed when he was the one who dragged her out to relax in the first place. 

Amélie looks behind her, before turning back to Gabriel and pointing a finger at him. “Not a word to Olivia,” She tells him, pocketing her phone again as Olivia skips back over to their table with a round of shots. “She’ll be insufferable.”

“We can’t have that. If anything, I’m taking the credit for this one.”

“Comme tu veux.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've crawled my way out of my writing hiatus to bring you this ridiculous vampire AU, so thanks for reading, friends! I'd love it if you commented and told me what you though of my silliness. A prequel is in the works featuring Sombra and Widow, but it may be a while as I am unaccustomed to writing things longer than 500 words. This is the longest work I've ever finished, and for that, I am extremely proud of it despite its many flaws. Hope you enjoyed it!


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